


We Play Pretend

by stickystarstuck



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickystarstuck/pseuds/stickystarstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is not a squire desperate for his knight to bed him. Arthur is not a knight tempted by his squire's advances.</p><p>That doesn't mean they don't like to pretend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Play Pretend

They know what they are and what they are not.

That doesn't mean that they don't like to pretend.

There is no pattern of predictability for the occurrences but Merlin is forever the one to determine the characters they play. Arthur can't recall how it all began and he kicks himself every time he tries and the memory slips from his grasp; it would have been a sweet reverie to keep him company the rare times they are apart.

Tonight the feast had be long, no doubt Merlin feels the wear more so than Arthur; Arthur has accumulated much experience dealing with such dull conversation and prolonged ceremony so for him it is like water off a duck's back. For Merlin, it is as though he is a duck suffering from hydrophobia, squirming and fidgeting, flapping his limbs with minimal control.

Since they arrived back at Arthur's chambers, Merlin has been shooting him the most coy of glances. Perhaps Arthur should have acknowledged it when it first began but it is far more amusing to watch Merlin exaggerate his actions, push himself forward to try and capture Arthur's attention.

Arthur removes his cape himself (it was a terrible idea to wear it, fussy thing, it is), drapes it over his preferred chair haphazardly, and waits for Merlin to skitter over and adjust it should it slip off the back to the floor.

"Shall I assist with your undressing, Sir Knight?"

And so the game has truly begun.

Spying Merlin's position behind him in the mirror, Arthur makes a noncommittal noise and waits for Merlin to make what he wants of it. It takes but a second for Merlin to interpret it as a wish for service and he timidly makes his way to Arthur's side, lip between his teeth, biting them to a plush pink, his fingers light against Arthur's clothes.

If they were just Merlin and Arthur, this ordeal would be done in a much different manner; Merlin would tug and pull, nattering incessantly about this or that, and Arthur would wrestle for control because Merlin is often nearly making him lose his balance.

(The one time it happened, Arthur went careening into a bedpost. Not again, he swore. Not if he could help it.)

This time it is as if Merlin daren't touch Arthur or perhaps it's more like Merlin daren't succumb to the temptation to touch Arthur. His hands slide across the planes of Arthur's body in whisper strokes, across his shoulders and down his arms, a reverence that Merlin is usually not prone to. Many a day has begun with Merlin manhandling him out of bed, tugging at the sheets until Arthur shivers with the morning air.

But they are not Arthur and Merlin in this moment.

From the way Merlin addresses him and undresses him, Arthur knows that they are playing the roles of a knight and his squire. Arthur tries to ascertain whether Merlin has a particular pair in mind but he can't find it in him to care too much when Merlin's hands hover over the laces of his trousers, a slight crease between his brows and his lips beginning to worry themselves into a pout.

Arthur quirks a brow, makes a dare for Merlin to touch him, and tries to remain unimpressed when Merlin's hand plants itself between his legs, still yet confident in the _press_. Merlin glances up and down between Arthur's face and his crotch, eyes wide and lips parted just so, looking to Arthur for some response. For permission or rejection?— Arthur doesn't know and he's enjoying Merlin's act too well to take the lead.

He throws Merlin a bone though, gets into character and cordially asks if Merlin has been observing the knights' practice properly.

"I'll be testing your knowledge of drills tomorrow so you'd better had."

For the first time in a while, Merlin's eyes shift away from Arthur's body, a faked tell that Merlin's squire was fibbing and he hadn't. Arthur tries to coax a little more out of Merlin; what did that look mean precisely?

"You _have_ been observing the knights, haven't you? As my squire you should be paying careful attention."

"I do try, sir, I do. It's just—" Merlin stops, quirks his lips in a grim line.

"Just what? What is so important than you are unable to do what is expected of you?"

A look of hurt flashes on Merlin's face and oh, he is so very good at pretending; Arthur supposes that he could join a theatre troupe and travel the lands, making crowds fall in love with him as he schools his features.

"It's just you are so very distracting, my lord." Merlin continues with his ministrations, tweaks at the laces of Arthur's trousers at an excruciating pace. Little by little, so slow yet every increment has the same effect as Merlin's hand wrapped around his cock.

Merlin takes note, "I see you find me distracting too."

Arthur can't help the smirk that tugs at his lips. "Any attention to that area of my persons is bound to elicit a reaction— even that of an inexperienced squire."

The frown upon Merlin's lips this time is of frustration, he acts as though he is put upon, but all Arthur wants to do is string this out; he's still trying to find his character and doesn't want Merlin on him until he's encapsulated the role.

(Arthur is not about to be bested in the art of false pretences. If Merlin's running off to join actors, Arthur is most certainly going to have them be in awe of his skills and beg him to go with them too.)

Arthur has never truly been a squire nor has he had one. He shadowed old knights who treated him with a certain reverence because he was the future king, first and foremost, and therefore not like the other young squires who had unsavoury duties piled on them for the knights' convenience. That doesn't mean that Arthur is unaware of the bonds that form between knights and their squires.

Many a fireside tale is of nobles playing favourites with those under their charge and Arthur supposes that his status has conditioned him to find it distasteful. It all changed that night they took a tumble in Arthur's bed after a private dinner where Gwaine had dared all the guests to down as much ale as they could. 

(It was stupid to fall for such a taunt but it seemed absolutely rational at the time to compete. When morning came and Arthur had a mouthful of dark hair and the perfect view of Merlin's arse, he realised it was perhaps the most brilliant thing to ever happen.)

Merlin yanks the ties loose in one swift movement and Arthur's trousers fall to his knees; the tepid night air swoops between his legs and Arthur wonders briefly if his hairs are standing on end. They feel like are but Arthur won't look down to be sure. He's not going to give Merlin the satisfaction.

For a while now, their eyes have remained level; a blink here and a blink there but wholly focussed on each other, and Arthur can see the gold flecks of the candlelight spoiling a rather pleasing shade of blue. He clenches his jaw, reluctant to give away his attraction: a knight shall not yield to his own squire.

Not without a fight, in any case.

Merlin adjusts himself, takes a different angle to the scene, he hunches his shoulders and looks forlorn. His hands are curled around the tattered ends of his sleeves, his eyes dance up and down Arthur's body, holding himself back as if Arthur wouldn't just let him end the game here and have Merlin anyway.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

Arthur frowns, he wonders which way this is going to go but waits for Merlin to play it out.

"All the other squires say how they get taken by their knights but you haven't even— You don't even seem to—"

The brave face Merlin had gives way to something a little less confident and a little more subdued. The tops of Merlin's cheeks have a light dusting of pink but with the frequent nervous biting of lips his mouth is tainted dark red.

"Is that what you would like?" Arthur asks, starkly aware that his erection is skimming the bottom of his tunic yet determined not to be affected by it. "To be guided by my hand from the training field to my private quarters?"

Merlin nods his head, eager and wanting, and he edges forward into Arthur's space. Arthur takes pity and bridges the distance, lips tenderly pressing against Merlin, just to see his reaction.

It takes but a second for Merlin to give, opening his mouth and allowing Arthur free roam. Arthur can taste more than a hint of the wine that Merlin served at the feast (he really must stop sneaking sips), it provides an additional warmth to Merlin's breath as he swirls and surges against Arthur's tongue.

It's completely unlike Merlin's usual technique which is perfectly matched to Arthur's own; Merlin's faking not knowing what he's doing, he attacks too hard and nips Arthur's bottom lip with an edge off of flirty, but he's eager with the noises he makes and Arthur likes that.

When Arthur even eventually remembers that he's got his trousers around his legs and can't back Merlin to the wall as much as he wants to, he rakes his fingers through Merlin's hair, enjoys the silky strands between fingertips and smooths his palms down the sides of his face.

There's no stubble, Merlin must have shaved just before he started his duties, so therefore he must have planned for tonight. Arthur had made an offhanded comment about the faint rash that developed on the inside of his thigh the last time Merlin went down on him. It had been a noticeable burn beneath the heavy cladding of his armour and though it made for an awkward training session it was a pleasant reminder of the previous night's shenanigans.

The thoughtfulness makes Arthur wants to lick Merlin's face all over in gratitude. He won't though. A knight would never.

(Actually, now that Arthur thinks about it, he himself wouldn't, he's not too keen on the idea. It's just not something that he'd do. Not unless Merlin asked for a tongue to lick a stripe up the bridge of his nose because, really, that's all it would take for Arthur to acquiesce to such a thing.)

Arthur holds Merlin steady and parts their lips just a sliver to take a breath. When he does, Merlin makes a small whimper at the loss and keens his head to reach Arthur again.

"If we do this," Arthur says, his voice hard and biting. "I don't want you running your tongue off to the other boys."

"I won't," Merlin breathes. "I promise."

"I'm serious, no one can know. There is no way I can stand having what we do as gossip fodder for the castle."

Merlin nods absently and Arthur can tell he's clearly not paying attention to anything being said. No matter, Arthur can sort out that kind of misbehaviour later.

Gracing Merlin with a quick peck, Arthur then nods to his bed and can't help but smile when Merlin practically leaps away. Arthur is grateful that Merlin doesn't make any comment about how stupid he must look with his trousers down. Arthur quickly toes out of his boots off as best he can, shimmies out of his trousers and kicks them somewhere near his dining table.

When Arthur joins Merlin, he finds him sat on the bed fiddling with the buckles of his boots as though his fingers haven't unfastened them a thousands of times before.

"Need any help with that?"

Merlin looks up, eyes wide and mouth turned a little nervous.

"I can do it," he fusses some more yet the boots stay on.

Arthur saunters over and swats Merlin's hands away; silly boy, letting his jitters affect him already, they haven't even gotten to the best bit yet. This too is part of the construct Merlin had in mind and Arthur goes along willingly, undoing Merlin's boots and flinging them behind his back, kissing Merlin once in a while to keep him happy as Arthur moves to remove other articles of clothing.

Over the years, Merlin has bulked up and slimmed down in correspondence with Camelot's prosperity. He is always the first to forgo a meal when it seems that the crops have produced less than expected, surreptitiously passing on scraps to the children in the lower town when he thinks Arthur's eyes are averted.

Times have been good recently and Merlin's physique shows that well with the plumping of his cheeks and the roundness his arse which Arthur has taken many an opportunity to just sit back and admire. Merlin had asked Arthur a couple of months ago to help him build muscle because he'd had a dream that he'd managed to take Arthur against the doors of the throne room and he needed to work on his upper-body strength if he is to achieve it.

Arthur takes a moment after pulling Merlin's tunic off to inspect how the all the training is coming along; Merlin's shoulders are broader, and there is some shape to his former twig-like arms but there's still a way to go to get him ready for a whole night of throne room proclivities.

For tonight, however, he's absolutely perfect laid back on Arthur's sheets, his stupid neckerchief providing the only obstruction to complete nakedness.

"How does my lord want me?" Merlin asks, his dimples betraying the reverence of his words.

"A little less smart lipped, please."

Merlin ducks his head, nerves settle on his features in the most obvious of ways that actually show Merlin is really enjoying himself. He eventually stops worrying his lip between his teeth and looks to Arthur most eagerly.

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I've never had— I mean, I've never been—"

Arthur crawls over Merlin, one dip of the mattress at a time, and Merlin looks up at him so wide-eyed and innocent that for the briefest of moments Arthur could believe they hadn't ravaged each other a hundred times over before.

Careful not to squash Merlin under him, Arthur keeps all his weight on his knees and elbows and luxuriates in the heat that seems to radiate from Merlin's body. In the dead of the night, Arthur's senses are finely tuned to slightest adjustment; he takes in the slight drag of Merlin's breath, the rustle of movement against the sheets, the gleam of perspiration across Merlin's brow.

"So you're bestowing upon me your virtue?" Arthur knits his own brows, unsure if the squire Merlin is should be giving away something so treasured. "Wouldn't you rather have a kitchen maid who was sweet on you for your first time?"

Merlin smiles easily and wraps his arm around Arthur's neck, pulling his face closer.

"You own me in so many ways already, why not in this way too?"

Arthur finds himself melt a little at that, he kisses Merlin sweetly, on his nose, on his cheek, on his forehead. Merlin tries to chase Arthur's lips with his own but only manages to catch the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw.

While Arthur's arms are occupied propping up the rest of his body, Merlin takes full advantage and lets his hands roam. Arthur can feel his warm hand muss up his hair, slide down his back and settle on the dip just above his butt. The playfulness of Merlin's fingers, tip-tapping all over Arthur's back in an attempt to coax a laugh out of him.

No way is Arthur having that; Merlin isn't going to just reach that place and tickle Arthur into submission. In retaliation Arthur aligns his hips against Merlin's, no hiding how hard he is, and grinds against Merlin, prepared for the delicious contact and so thoroughly enjoying Merlin's surprise.

"Oh, Ar—, ah, my lord," Merlin nearly slips up but gasps his way through the rolls of Arthur's hips.

"I promise that's just a taste for the rest of tonight," Arthur growls into Merlin's ear, nips at his lobe, and enjoys the brush of Merlin's cheek as he nuzzles against his own.

Arthur fully envelops Merlin, endeavours to seize all of his attention; he skims his hands down Merlin's arms and intertwines their fingers as he kisses Merlin in a style more like their own. Merlin follows his lead, kissing him slow and deep, their tongues swirling in a delicate well practiced dance between their captured mouths.

Arthur loves Merlin's kisses. It had always seemed as a necessary foreplay he wanted over as quickly as possible but Merlin's lips are as plush as his ceremonial clothes and he never seems to have soured breath. It isn't just the deep languid kisses Arthur adores, he also loves the quick peppered ones that are fleeting as they pass through an empty corridor. 

One day they'll do this again with scarves to bind Merlin's arms to the bedposts and Arthur will have free rein of Merlin's body but for now, Arthur merely holds them above Merlin's head, squished against the pillows. If Merlin tried he could slip out fairly easily; Arthur doesn't hold him pinned underneath with much force, he merely lays his body on him, legs intertwined and heartbeats pressed together.

"Keep your arms up," Arthur commands and Merlin obeys, he clasps his hands together and bares the even paler underside of his arms.

Arthur kisses his way down Merlin's body, admiring the pink blooming where he nurses Merlin's skin between his teeth. He could spend all night marking Merlin's skin; he once did a couple of months ago and the sore jaw he had in the few days afterwards was a worthy price to pay as he could revel in the view of his work every time Merlin's neckerchief slipped.

He goes slow, reverent in his movements, he strokes Merlin's flanks and admires the goose pimples that rise when he teases with licks of his tongue. Merlin's abdomen is firm yet trembles at the touch, an instant reaction at the slightest skim. Arthur can hear Merlin release a shaky breath and it reflects in a contraction of his stomach, showing the jut of his pelvis which Arthur places his hands upon and rubs his thumbs in a circular motion about Merlin's hips.

Merlin is erect, beautifully so, Arthur laps from the base to the tip of his cock, tasting the proof of Merlin's desire. It's familiar on his tongue and Arthur would gladly just suck him to completion right there but then Merlin cants his hips a little higher and Arthur spies a glisten around Merlin's arse.

So Merlin really was planning for tonight.

"What's this?" Arthur asks, circles a finger around Merlin's hole experimentally where it puckers as soon as he touches.

"Some of the squires and pages said that some, um, preparation would be required."

"So you did all this by yourself?" Arthur pushes in a little, the tip of his finger slides in easy into the warmth of Merlin's body.

It's always fascinating to watch Merlin accommodate Arthur's fingers and more but he gasps and moans in such a decadent way Arthur looks up to his face. Their eyes lock, just barely because Merlin's eyes are hooded looking down, and Arthur watches Merlin's face as he presses in further, right up to his knuckle.

Arthur can't recognise the oil Merlin used to slick himself up, whatever he used it may possibly be the best thing they've come across because it's pretty effortless to just slide in and out. Merlin's breath quickens and he makes the loveliest of noises, moaning as he moves against Arthur's fingers, positively fucking himself as he digs his heals into the sheets to gain purchase.

There is something in the tone of Merlin's gasps and the pleading in his eyes that tells Arthur this is something Merlin really needs. It's no hardship to give him this, Arthur knows exactly where to press inside and how to take Merlin's cock in his mouth. Merlin slides a hand into Arthur's hair, so delicately his touch is barely there. He must have brought them down at some point, Arthur isn't sure when. The knight of his pretence should take offence that Merlin isn't following orders but Arthur can't care too much.

He moves faster, feels the tense of Merlin's body before he comes, a hot salty burst upon his tongue before he swallows it down. Arthur lifts his mouth off Merlin though his fingers remain inside, slowed in their movement as Merlin, flushed and too sensitive, reaches out to bring Arthur in for a kiss.

Arthur obliges, wonders if Merlin is attempting to rid Arthur of the taste as he licks and sucks.

"Did that feel good?" Arthur asks as Merlin takes to gently biting his bottom lip.

"Very, my lord," Merlin whispers and Arthur can feel him smiling, can see the bliss in his eyes.

"Then would you not wish to bestow upon me a similar kind of pleasure?"

"Of course!" Merlin insists, his hands on Arthur's shoulders squeeze a little, his thumbs press in the dips of his collarbones. He kisses Arthur once more, eager and sloppy, still on the high but focussed on the task at hand as he wraps his legs around Arthur.

He feels the hairs brush against his waist as Merlin hooks his ankles to bring Arthur closer, the characters seem to fall away as soon as the head of Arthur's cock nudges against Merlin's arse. It takes two tries before Arthur angles himself right and slides into Merlin cautiously, he carefully watches for any sign of discomfort but Merlin has readied himself so well.

Arthur goes as deep as he can which is to say he goes as far as Merlin makes him. Merlin's body is hot and slick and so wonderful that there have been times when Arthur has woken up from dreams of it. With Merlin finished, Arthur gets the encouragement from Merlin to take his gratification.

It's always good with Merlin, there may have been times where it had been awkward (nearly caught in the kitchens) or clumsy (almost injured in the armoury) but they were never times he regretted. Arthur watches as Merlin pants heavily, the blush on his cheeks advancing down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

It doesn't take long for Arthur to feel the burn in his thighs and arms, sweat cooling on his shoulders and the backs of his knees. The weight of the night is drawing in, Merlin pants for breath so shallow as though he's trying to hold in his voice. Arthur thrusts steady, Merlin tight and sweet around him, perfect as always but perhaps a little too quiet.

From where their hands had found themselves intertwined, Arthur lets go and plants it splayed on Merlin's chest, smooths down the hair there until it is sparse just under Merlin's belly button. He takes Merlin's spent cock in hand, merely holds it in his palm until he feels it harden, the drops seeping between his fingers. He jacks Merlin off, it's always better this way; Merlin bucks and squeezes and tightens, he grips Arthur's arm hard enough to mark and gasp joyously on Arthur's lips until they're both gone.

Arthur collapses forward, rests his head in the crook of Merlin's neck and nudges the offending neckerchief out the way to bite the skin there for later admiration. His breathing is ragged and his heart beating too much love to be wise, and if forever was a plausible construct Arthur is sure this would be the best way to spend it.

Merlin turns his head to him and breathes happily into Arthur's hair, nuzzling as Arthur remains there. It's a bit of a kerfuffle disentangling from Merlin in order to clean Merlin up and lay beside him. When Arthur pulls out he can feel his own come spill. He touches Merlin's hole with his fingertip, so wet and full of him, and feels it twitch immediately.

Once they have somewhat scrubbed up with a washcloth, Arthur returns to the blooming red flower on Merlin's neck that he'd cultivated with his teeth.

"Your prowess is magnificent, my lord," Merlin says into Arthur's hair, the air from his lips tickles Arthur behind the ear.

He cannot help but laugh, face pressed to Merlin's shoulder. "I suppose as my squire you will require much instruction in this matter."

"I look forward to it," Merlin yawns, rests his cheek atop Arthur's head, and Arthur decides to join him in sleep.

Best to be well rested for another bout of training in the morning.


End file.
